Christopher Lawrence is the movie critic for the Las Vegas Review-Journal.
clawrence@reviewjournal.com … @life_onthecouch on Twitter. 702-380-4567
Maybe it was MTV back in the day with its three-minute bursts of Cyndi Lauper and Lionel Richie. Or it could be the fact that the meat we eat has been injected with more questionable substances than Barry Bonds during his prime. But somewhere along the way, our national attention span has come to rival that of a fruit fly on spring break after its fourth beer bong.
In the past couple of weeks, new shows have been popping up like sensitive balladeer types on “American Idol.”
From the beginning of “Kings” to the end of “Battlestar Galactica” and the angels battling demons on “Supernatural” in between, the notion of a higher power has taken on a more-prominent-than-usual place on my TV.
If you’ve ever found the perfect groove in your couch — the kind where the cushions and pillows align so perfectly you wouldn’t even consider getting up for anything less than two-thirds of the Kardashian sisters on your doorstep holding a reasonable mortgage and some In-N-Out — then you know what it’s like when the phone rings.
It has love and war, “7th Heaven”-style religion and “Gossip Girl”-style scheming, and the mother of all intimidating actors in Ian McShane.
Everywhere you look, there are signs that people are doing whatever it takes to make ends meet.
You’d think being Satan’s right-hand man would come with a few perks. Untold riches. Supermodels underfoot. Maybe a job in the Yankees’ front office so he’d feel at home.
I hate to go all Andy Rooney, but have you ever noticed how confusing cable has gotten? (And, oh yeah, hey you kids, get off my lawn.)
Getting a series on the air is hard enough. Trying to make one that defines an era? That’s like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. (Which, coincidentally, is how my cousin Stevie died.)
This may come as a shock to many of you, but what I know about women could fit in a Twitter post. A text message, if I’m feeling verbose.
Watching today’s Super Bowl XLIII is going to be bittersweet. Sweet because, really, who isn’t up for XIII or XIV hours of football? Bitter, though, because it represents the last wheezy, raspy, Tom Waits-with-bronchitis gasp of a dying network.
In this economy, I realize I’m lucky to have any job. But getting paid to watch TV? It’s enough to make a man feel guilty.
TV has a way of ruining fantasies, and I’m not just talking about the genius at E! who decided to let Hef’s one-time girlfriends talk — and laugh! — on “The Girls Next Door.”
After being sidelined by the writers strike last season, “24” (8 p.m. today and Monday, KVVU-TV, Channel 5) is returning to action in a brave new world.
We’re only four days into 2009 and already colors look brighter, music sounds sweeter and Tyra Banks seems less full of herself.
